Healer's Charge
by odiedragon
Summary: A Terrible Beauty stand-alone side chapter, written for the girl-saves-boy fic challenge on livejournal.  A healer apprentice of the Chansid finds an injured stranger in the Wilds.  Will her tribe allow her the chance to nurse him back to health?


A/N: Another Terrible Beauty side chapter, this one written for the girl-saves-boy fic challenge on Livejournal.

Thanks to nearia_awakened for filling in for my normal beta, so as to keep this surprise for her. :D

.oOo.

* * *

Brigid

* * *

One good thing about the Dark Ones was that a barely able child could track them, crawling on hand and knee. Sadly, it was certainly the _only_ good thing about them. The trails of death and corruption they left through the Waters of Life made Brigid feel sick to her stomach.

Then again, most things made her stomach turn these days. It was the nature of the process. The Eye of the Night was opening for the third time since they had known, and she and Krist would announce her condition to the tribe at the next full moon. Not that everyone in the tribe didn't already know... but it was taboo to speak such things aloud until the couple announced the news. Too many were lost in those first moons, too many warriors gone unborn, too many tribe-mates gone to the spirit realm before their time.

Such gloomy thoughts for such a bright morning, Brigid chided herself. We must keep our thoughts positive, to help keep the balance between the good things that the People can do with the many dangers of the world. It would not do to focus on the fact that the hunting party they searched for had not been seen in over a handful of days. Good thoughts often brought good results, as Shaman Aindle was fond of reminding her. Dwelling on the fact that the Tribe-Father had sent the healer's best apprentice along with the hunters... it did no good. Black thoughts lead to blackened wounds.

She blamed their quarry for her darkened mood, for the filth and destruction they left in their wake made it hard to appreciate the Giving Light that broke through the autumn clouds. All around her, she saw signs of the forest preparing for its winter hibernation, but that was a natural, false-death. The Dark Ones left nothing but plague and blackness in their wake. It would be years and years before the damage could be undone, even by spirits as strong as those who lived within the Waters of Life.

"They are close. Their stink is on the wind."

The other warriors made sounds of agreement. They could not know how attuned her sense of smell had become, and it was not her place to speak while they were tracking. Having the trail of the Dark Ones overtake the trail of the hunter group was a bad sign. She hoped they would find them soon, no matter what condition they were in. At least then she could help her clansmen, rather than just following along like a baby marshduck.

A deep bellow pierced the air, and all heads shot around to face it. Moments later, something made the Mother shake, as if a giant rock had fallen somewhere nearby. The hunters cut from the trail and headed toward the noise, and Brigid hurried to keep up.

.oOo.

* * *

In all the campfire stories and shaman's tales that Brigid had ever heard, nothing came close to describing the sight before her. The stench of death and corruption was overwhelming. There appeared to be few Dark Ones left standing, but the ones that were...

She quickly ducked to the underbrush as she felt her empty stomach try to further empty itself. Fear overwhelmed her as she realized how vulnerable she was, bent over double like that and away from the main group. She pulled her simple obsidian blade from her belt, trying to steady herself and stay alert.

The size of that giant purple brute... no, she wasn't going to think about it, she _wasn't_. Not his ugly face, nor his twisted grotesque horns, nor how impossibly large he was. Her stomach heaved yet again, trying in vain to bring up something, anything. Desperately she tried not to moan too loudly and attract attention.

Brigid was many things; the shaman's best healer apprentice, a good cook, and the pelts she prepared were the envy of all the tribe. But fighting, hunting, killing... she knew the niche that was hers to fulfill, and these things were not within it. She could handle the blood and gore, but to intentionally inflict a wound on another, human or animal, was unthinkable. This was the wisdom of living in a tribe, for there were plenty of others that did not share her repulsions, and few that had her skills. But this was little comfort in the face of warriors screaming, Dark Ones shrieking like angry hawks, and the sounds of blades rending flesh.

She herself screamed when the tree she was hiding behind shook violently. Cursing herself for doing something so very stupid, she frantically checked her surroundings. No Dark Ones headed this way that she could see, but out of the corner of her eye she saw something fall out of the tree down to the ground.

It was a person, a fighter, but not one of her tribe-mates. He was slumped on the ground, unconscious or possibly already dead. Had the purple abomination thrown him into the tree? It seemed an impossible feat from this distance, yet there he was.

Cautiously, Brigid slipped over to the fallen man's side. She knew she should save her energies for the warriors, but that would come later. Right now, she could help this unfortunate man, whoever he was and wherever he came from. As she removed the fighter's helmet, some part of her brain was amazed at the quality of his armor, for all the good it had done him against the Dark Ones. Her fingers found his life's blood pulsing in his neck. It was weak but still there, thank the Mother's mercy.

His breastplate had been mangled, as if the beast had picked him up around the middle and squeezed him like fruit to be juiced. With her knife she cut the leather bindings she could easily access and pealed away what bits of metal she could. She then tried as best she could to clear her mind and began calling out to the spirit world. Her hands slowly lit up, surrounded by blue auras of light, but with the sounds of battle still so close her ability to concentrate was limited. All she could manage was to stop the bleeding on two of the man's larger wounds. He had inside-wounds and broken bones as well, but there was little she could do about those things at the moment.

A pained, unnatural shriek pierced the air. Turning to face the center of the fray, Brigid saw Rogar, the Warrior-Leader for their tribe, literally standing atop the chest of the giant purple monster. With a dramatic slash, he cut the Dark One's throat, both man and beast falling to the ground. She heard the other warriors cheering, and the unnatural cries of the Dark Ones seemed to have stopped. The battle was over, but her job was just beginning.

"I shall return, stranger," she whispered to the outsider before hurrying off to attend to the hurts of her tribemates.

.oOo.

* * *

"He is _chimeeca_. Not worth our time or yours, healer. Best to slit his throat and give him a clean death."

"He is a man, the same as any other man," Brigid argued. "The Dark Ones attacked him, just as they did our hunters." The Dark Ones had been feeding on the flesh of their hunt-brothers and sisters, whom they had found nearby.

"So you are saying he deserves a better fate than those of our clansmen? He should die."

"Our clansmen were dead when we found them, Rogar! The _chimeeca_ still lives."

"He should die," Rogar repeated, crossing his arms and scowling fiercely at Brigid. "Perhaps a feast of dog-man flesh will slow the Dark Ones before they find our village."

"That wind-cloth there, that Ramal carries," she said, pointing to the scavenged prize in the other man's hand, "That is the mark of the _chimeeca_ king. His armor is of the finest make that I have ever laid eyes upon. This is an important man, and the _chimecca_ would be indebted to us if we save him."

Rogar narrowed his eyes at her. "You are just a healer, and yet you know the mark of the King of Dogs? Does Ramal smell as if this King lifted his leg onto him?" The other warriors chuckled in response, save for Ramal, who glowered at him.

"Shaman Aindle teaches me many things. Did the _sashuro_ before you teach you nothing but how to skewer things with a stick?"

"Enough!" Rogar shouted. "If you want to save the outsider, you are on your own, _hiesa_. And that includes hauling him back home."

Brigid nodded, hanging her head in acceptance so as to hide her concern from showing on her face. She wanted to help the man, but could she heal him enough to walk? What if he could not be woken? Was she strong enough to pull him back to the village on a makeshift sledge?

"Rogar," another of the warriors interjected. "I shall stay with the _hiesa_ and guide her home. Shaman Aindle would be most vexed with us were harm to come to his best pupil." Brigid looked up; it was Naiish who had spoken, her husband's brother.

Rogar grunted in response. "As you wish. The rest of you, to me." He glanced sidelong at Brigid and Naiish. "Pray to the Mother that none of the hurts to my warriors worsen on the journey without a healer to keep them whole."

.oOo.

* * *

"Allow me, sister," Naiish offered, holding his hand out to take the makeshift rope. "I don't want to have to deal with an angry Krist when we return for endangering his... family." He plied her with a cockeyed smile.

"Naiish!" Brigid pretended to be offended. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right, sure you don't." He smiled in earnest now. "When do you intend to tell the tribe?"

"The next full moon council." She turned her face away as she felt herself turning red, her hand traveling unconsciously to her stomach.. "Please, I don't want to speak of it aloud."

"None the less, let me pull the sledge. I know you when you get that look in your eye. You'd brave the length of the frozen steppes just to prove a point."

"...it is wasteful, to let life pass without even trying to help. Even the life of a _chimeeca._"

Naiish nodded as he hefted the braided vines over his shoulder. "I worry that my nephew will have half your stubbornness and _still_ be as immobile as a mountain when he digs in his heels."

"There are worse qualities. And it could be your niece too, you know."

"Mother help us all if that's the case."

The _chimeeca_ groaned as Naiish began to pull his pallet across the bumpy ground. Brigid snapped her attention to him, excited yet concerned at the possibility of him waking up. The journey would go easier on him if his mind was in the spirit realm. His eyes remained closed, so all seemed well for now. They had strapped him firmly to the sledge, and hopefully he would not feel the jolting very much going forward. Her plan was to apply some deeper healing magics to see if he would awaken, as well as magical bonds to facilitate proper bone knitting, but all that mattered right now was getting back to the village.

Trotting behind Naiish, she prayed to the Mother that the stranger would hold on that long.

.oOo.

* * *

It was two weeks later when the stranger awoke.

Brigid had been keeping him alive using honey-water fed through a hollow reed. Normally the syrup would simply trickle down his throat, but this time he sputtered and coughed. When his eyes fluttered open, she found herself struck silent, holding her breath and watching her charge carefully.

He winced painfully as he took his head in his hand. "Where... who..."

"Shhh, it's alright. Don't move, you're safe here."

"I... what happened? Where am I?"

"Your people call us the Chasind. I am Brigid, this village's _hiesa, _the healer. Please, you need your rest." She pulled the thin blanket up to his chin to emphasize her point.

He nodded dumbly, his brief burst of energy spent. This time however when he drifted back into the spirit realm, his eyes darted behind his closed eyelids and he shifted as much as his broken body would allow. He was merely sleeping this time, not lost to the spirits.

It was a positive sign, but she knew that he was nowhere near the end of this journey's trail.

.oOo.

* * *

The next morning, he woke in earnest. Brigid propped him up using some pillows and a woven mat, and offered him a bowl of warm broth. He devoured the soup like a man starved, which was to be expected given that he hadn't eaten in two weeks. Still, she took it as another good sign.

"You told me your name yesterday, but I can't remember it now," he remarked as she filled his bowl a second time.

"Brigid, I am called," she said with a smile. "And what of you, warrior?"

"I... wait." His face fell. "I... can't remember."

"It's okay. You were lost to the spirit realm for many, many days. Three hands worth."

He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. "My head feels like something's inside of it, trying to club its way out."

"I can brew some elfroot tea, if you would like."

"Will that help the pain?"

"...yes. A moment, please." She turned away from the _chimeeca_ before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Shaman Aindle had told her this was possible, that sometimes, the mind returns from the spirit realm before the soul does. Only time would tell whether or not the two would reunite.

She didn't want to think about what would be expected of her, would that prove to be the case.

.oOo.

* * *

"This... I remember these markings," the stranger remarked several days later. Brigid had brought what little that had been scavenged from the battle site to the man, hoping it would help his soul find its way home. He held up Ramal's wind-cloth. "We were scouting for the King's army, to try and learn just how big the horde had grown... Do you know what happened to me? To... to my scouting party?"

Brigid nodded, cautiously taking the stranger's hand in hers. "You were the only _chimeeca_ we found alive," she said quietly. "Our own hunters had been killed in the same place by the Dark Ones. I do not know if it was the same battle, or a later one."

"So they are all dead." The man spoke in an even voice, devoid of emotion.

"Some may have escaped, but I would not know this."

"Of course. But what happened to me? How did I get in such a state?" he asked, gesturing with his good arm at the splints on both his legs. Brigid had set them and encircled the fractures with magical bonds, but the bones had to heal themselves.

"There was... I do not know what to call it. A Dark One, huge and horned, three times as big as any man I have ever laid eyes upon."

"An ogre?"

"I don't know. I can ask Shaman Aindle, if you like."

"No no, it's fine. Please continue."

"I did not see this, but I think he picked you up and crushed you." She made a fist to demonstrate. "Then he threw you across the clearing and into a tree."

"Maker's Breath... my lady, I owe you so much."

She ignored this, turning to grab another scrap of cloth. "Here is the tunic that was over your armor. I had to leave that behind, I'm afraid. Too heavy and far too damaged." She handed him a shredded blue cloth that was patterned with a design resembling two fern fronds. The man's face blanched at the sight.

"Fergus Cousland," he whispered. "My name is Fergus Cousland. And I have to get back to Ostagar."

.oOo.

* * *

She was helping Fergus practice walking, circling the center of the village when Rogar confronted her.

"The warriors have returned from the _chimeeca_ village, _hiesa_." He was flanked by Ramal and Ellac, two of the tribe's strongest warriors. "Or should I say, what is left of it."

Brigid tried to keep her voice even. "Was someone injured? I can come..."

"We have wasted too much time on this outsider!" Rogar pointed at Fergus with an angry sneer. "And now, we won't even be able to trade him for ransom. The Dark Ones killed and ate his countrymen. He needs to be gone. _Now._"

The people in the village square had all stopped and were staring at the commotion. "Rogar, he can barely walk! Never mind that winter is upon us. It would be inhuman to..."

"ENOUGH!" Rogar shouted angrily. "You cannot be inhuman to dog-men."

"What is the meaning of this?" Kerik Tribe-Father, their elderly leader, forcefully placed himself between warrior and healer. The crowds gave way out of respect and reverence. "Rogar, explain yourself."

"The _hiesa_ has spent the last two moon-turns focused on nursing her pet _chimeeca_ back to health. Her efforts go wasted, as does all the meat and supplies she's used to nourish him."

"A man lives where a man could have easily died," Kerik countered. "It is wise to protect the Mother's gift of life in all its forms, not just that which flows through the People."

"The _hiesa_ promised a great reward from the King of Dogs for saving this man. And now, they are all dead!" Rogar puffed up indignantly, pointing angrily at Fergus again. "Winter has come, and we cannot afford an extra mouth to feed, especially the mouth of a sickly dog-man."

"Please, if I may..." Fergus took a few halting steps forward, leaning awkwardly on a walking stick. "I do not wish to impose on your tribe any longer, if it is causing problems. If your generous hospitality is at an end, then so be it. I will find my way back to Ferelden, somehow."

"No!" Brigid cried out. "You can barely circle the village, how do you expect to make it through the Waters of Life back to your lands? I don't... I can't let you throw away your life like that, not after you've come back from the brink of death." She turned to Kerik Tribe-Father, kneeling in the snow at his feet. "Please, _Lapatria,_ don't turn him out, please, I beg of you." She found herself not caring when her tears began to flow; they had become harder to contain as her child grew within her. "Krist and Naiish have taken it upon themselves to hunt for the extra food the _chimeeca_ needs, and I prepare it myself. He is not a burden on the tribe, nor on my time. I have always, always put the needs of the People first, tending to their wounds and hurts over those of the outsider."

"So you say," Rogar scoffed. She could feel the eyes of the Tribe-Father boring into the back of her head.

"_Lapatria,_ if I may?" Brigid's heart fluttered at the sound of her mentor's voice. "Having the _chimeeca_ here has been an invaluable learning experience for our young _hiesa. _The skills she has honed through his recovery will serve all of the People, not just the _chimeeca._"

A tense silence passed. Brigid dared to turn her head up to look at Kerik. He frowned, considering deeply what he had heard. "Let me complete tending to his convalescence, _Lapatria_. He is no bother, truly. I will better serve the People for it, as Shaman Aindle states."

After several moments Kerik nodded his agreement. "As you say. The _chimeeca_ can stay with us. But know this, _hiesa. _The Long Night is almost upon us, and the signs point to a cruel winter to follow in its wake." He turned to face Rogar. "If times grow lean, he must go. The immediate needs of the People come first."

"Oh thank you, thank you _Lapatria. _Your kindness is as great your wisdom." Brigid stood, taking the old man's shriveled hands in hers as she bowed her head.

"You have my thanks as well," Fergus added, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

"You say that now, outsider," Kerik replied, his voice sounding hard as stone. "But do not think for a moment that I will not hold true to my word."

Fergus simply nodded in reply. Rogar glared at him, spat at the snow near his feet, and stormed off.

"Come," Brigid said, laying her hand softly on Fergus's arm. "Lets get back inside. We've had enough excitement for today."

Fergus chuckled. "Oh, I don't know. I could have taken that brute, I think. A few whacks with my trusty stick here and-"

"Do not speak so of Rogar," Brigid scolded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "He is a bully but he is our most respected warrior. And he sees your people the way that wolves see dogs. Similar, yet weak and inferior."

"Thankfully not all of the Chasind share his views."

His warm grin made her blood rush to her cheeks. "No, thank the Mother for that," She turned away, hoping that he had not seen her face turn red.

Krist and Naiish were waiting outside the entrance to their home. When their eyes met, Brigid ran ahead of Fergus and leapt into Krist's arms, squeezing him tightly.

"Shhh, _arido_, it's alright, all is well," he said, comforting her gently. "Come, Naiish and I have killed some fat rabbits for supper. The _puapa_ must be hungry, yes?" He tenderly ran his hand over her expanding belly.

She knew she was fortunate to have Krist as a husband. She loved him, and it made her feel warm inside to think of the child she would soon bear for him. For both of them.

He was _chimeeca_, an outsider, one of the dog-men. And he was certainly not worth costing her her lovemate, or their child a father.

.oOo.

* * *

"Eat, _arido_," Krist pleaded with his wife, wrapping another thick pelt around her as he handed her a bowl of thin stew. "The rest of us will be fine. The _puapa_ grows larger by the day, yes? He needs food."

"_She_ is fine," Brigid argued, but her heart was not in it. She begrudgingly accepted the dish and sipped the broth slowly. The warmth felt good on her hands. Over the edge of her bowl, she glanced over to where Fergus had drifted off to sleep. It had been hard for him to properly exercise his legs this past moon cycle. The snows had come hard this year, and getting around was difficult for everyone. He no longer needed the help of a walking stick, but his balance was still questionable at times. The slick packed-snow pathways around the village certainly did him no favors, either.

Krist sat down in front of her, crossing his legs and wrapping himself in a similar pelt as the one he had just given her. "Kerik spoke with me again today," Krist said somberly.

Brigid simply nodded.

"The snows run deep this year, deeper than most years than anyone can remember."

"This is known." Her heart felt like a heavy stone, sinking down into her stomach. She felt her child move within her, kicking her insides. The _puapa_ must come first, certainly before her own selfish and confusing desires.

"_Chimeeca_ Fergus can walk," Krist continued. "There is a hunting party leaving in two sunrises, headed in the direction of the old _chimeeca_ tumble-rocks. From there, he can take the stone path and return to his people."

She shook her head. "He is not ready. The time he spent in the spirit world... I do not think he returned undamaged. He needs time, time to heal, time to become fit and whole..."

"He no longer has the luxury of time," Krist countered. He took Brigid's hand in his, rubbing it gently. "You have done a great service for him, but he is still an outsider. Would you deny our child the food he needs in order to benefit a stranger?"

"How can you still call him that?" she answered sharply. "He has lived in our hut for the past three moon-cycles. He has shared our meat, our fire, and told us tales of his people."

"That does not make him one of us." Krist tenderly took Brigid's chin in his hand, lifting her head to meet his gaze. "Please, _arido_. If we do not tell him, Kerik will. Or worse, Rogar."

Her sadness twisted within her swollen stomach. She drew the pelts around her tightly, wrapping her arms around her torso as tight as her tender breasts would allow. The wind howled as it whipped through the bare trees outside and over the thick sod roof of their hut.

"I will speak to him in the morning."

.oOo.

* * *

He sat in silence for some moments after she told him.

"When I first got here," he began, "I wanted nothing more than to be able to get up and return to the king's camp at Ostagar. Or home, to my wife and son."

Her mind reeled at this news. "You have a wife? A son?"

Fergus nodded slowly. "They live far to the north of here, in Highever. I had to leave them behind there, when my father's forces were called by King Cailan to put down the darkspawn uprising."

"You should have told me earlier," she muttered, guilt consuming her. "I would have pushed you harder, tried to get you back to the dry lands before the snow fell..."

"I was nowhere near ready to travel when the snows hit, you know this," he replied, not unkindly. "There was nothing I could do. Thinking of them, talking about them... it would have only made things harder."

"I should have tried harder."

He reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You did. I would rather return to them after many months have passed than to never have returned at all." She turned her head away, hoping he did not see the tears that had come unbidden to her eyes. "The rest of your tribe would have left me to die out in the Wilds. But you didn't." He held his fist to his chest in an oddly reverent gesture. "Know that the Couslands and the teyrnir of Highever are forever in your debt."

She turned to face him. "I only did what was right. You owe me no debts."

"No," he disagreed. "Days before the missive from the king arrived, Oriana told me that she thought she was pregnant again. We had decided to wait until I returned from Ostagar to make the knowledge public."

"This is your wife? Oriana?"

"Yes."

"The _chimeeca_ have wisdom then. The People have a similar custom. A _puapa_ is a fragile thing when it is so young." She ran her hand over her belly, and her child squirmed and kicked seemingly in response to her touch.

"She would not be as far along as you. Perhaps this is for the best. If I leave now, I can hopefully return to Highever and be there for her in the last months before the child arrives."

"I have heard those are the hardest," Brigid agreed, her tone wooden. How could she have been so stupid? Why did it hurt so much to find out that he belonged to another?

"I was serious about the debt," he continued. "I will find a way to have supplies sent to your tribe. Forge-tempered weapons, armor, good metal tools, healer's supplies, whatever you need."

"The Mother shall provide for us... but I know that such an offering would not go unwelcome."

He smiled at her admission. "Then I should get going as soon as I can then, yes? The sooner I return home, the sooner I will get those goods packed and on their way to you."

She simply nodded. Not all paths remain crossed forever, and she had known that Fergus would have to leave eventually. But why did it have to be so soon?

.oOo.

* * *

As promised, the hunting group gathered in the main square the next morning. Krist had given Fergus his spare set of winter overclothes, and Naiish's spare bow was strapped over his shoulder. The sun shown brightly in a clear sky, though it did little to break winter's grasp on the land.

She watched from just outside the doorway of her hut as he turned to follow the hunters. The walking stick she had insisted that he take with him seemed to help keep him from wobbling too badly. When he reached the edge of the village, he stopped briefly and turned toward her, lifting his hand in a final goodbye.

Some strange spirit grabbed hold of her in that moment, and without thinking she hurried after him. He stopped and waited for her, a look of amusement on his face. The madness left her when she reached him, and she froze, dumbfounded.

"Did I forget something?" Fergus asked with a grin.

"I..." She felt her face flush with embarrassment. "No."

"I think I did," he replied, grin widening. Faster than she could react, he reached out and took her into his arms, hugging her tenderly as he kissed her on the cheek. "Mere words are not enough, but thank you Brigid. Thank you."

She said nothing, her voice would not come. He released her from his embrace, and she watched as he turned and hurried to catch up with the hunters.

"May the Mother guide your way, Fergus Cousland."

.oOo.

* * *

It was not until the following autumn that the _chimeeca _group found their way to the tribe's lands. There were at least two hands of warriors, and several slave animals pulling carts full of wood crates and bundles. Brigid did not envy the men their journey through the Waters of Life with those bulky wagons.

Little Krion squirmed uncomfortably in his _puapouse_, upset by all the noise the outsiders were making. She undid the straps holding him to her back and lifted him into her arms. Bouncing him on her hip, she hummed a tuneless song as she scanned the crowd. None of the _chimecca_ looked even remotely like Fergus Cousland. She sighed, supposing that if he could afford to send so many men and such a large amount of supplies, he was far to important to undertake such an errand himself.

The villagers crowded the strangers, pawing at the carts, the animals, the supplies within. A man in highly polished armor called out, trying to maintain order. "Hey now! There's plenty for everyone. Where is your chief?"

Kerik Tribe-Father stepped forward. "I am here, _chimeeca_."

"I bring you these supplies in the name of Teyrn Cousland of Highever. Oh, and this as well." The soldier reached into the pouch at his belt, retrieving a long, round item bound around the middle with shiny blue cloth. "This is for your healer. I believe the teyrn said her name was Brigid?"

Kerik nodded, accepting the object. Brigid hurried over to join them. "I am she, ser. Fergus sent me something?"

The man regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. "The _teyrn_ did, yes. Says you saved his life after a bloody ogre smashed him against a tree."

She bowed her head. "It was nothing."

He laughed. "Teyrn Cousland sure didn't seem to think so!"

Brigid turned the strange item over in her hands. "What is this? Why did the teyrn want me to have it?" She felt her face burn with shame as the man laughed heartily in response.

"It's a letter, from the teyrn's own hand!"

"I... do not know what that means."

Smiling, the _chimeeca_ warrior barked an order to one of his companions. "Thea! Come read the teyrn's letter to the Chasind healer." One of the fighters pushed through the crowds, and Brigid gasped quietly when she laid eyes upon her. Until that moment she had no idea that women _chimeeca_ could be warriors, just as they could among the People.

"Yes, ser, will do. Come with me, honey." The woman smiled and gestured for Brigid to follow her.

They found a place away from the center of the village, where fallen logs had been placed around a fire pit. The warrior woman sat down, patting the log next to her. Brigid placed Krion back in his _puapouse_, placing him on the ground next to her before sitting.

"Here," she said. "You do the honors. Pull the ribbon off, to break the seal." Brigid did so, and the item unfurled into a flat sheet, like an oddly unnatural tree leaf. Black marks had been made all over the surface, seemly applied with some kind of dye.

"Right then, lets see what Teyrn Cousland has to say." Thea cleared her throat before beginning.

_Dear Brigid,_

_I know I have been lax in following up on my promise to you and your people, and for that I apologize. I hope that there are enough supplies in the shipment to make up for this fact._

_I thought you should know... while I was serving in the king's army, my family was betrayed by my father's truest and closest friend. My mother, father, wife, and son were all killed in the attack. Only my sister still lives. The honor of vengeance has been claimed by her blade, but that is a hollow comfort at best._

_Even with all that has happened and all that I have lost, I am still grateful for your actions last year. I am convinced that you were sent by the Maker to ensure that I would still be alive to face whatever He has in store for me. I must believe this, for it would be so much easier to wish for death so as to join my family in the Fade. I must believe that our paths crossed for a reason, or I shall lose all hope in this life._

_I hope this letter finds you well, and your husband, brother, and child are all happy and healthy. I know that they are in the care of the best healer in all of Thedas._

_Sincerely,_

_Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever and former guest of the Chasind_

It took her several moments for the woman's words to make sense in her head. The family Fergus thought he was returning to had probably been dead the entire time he had been in her care. If he had known the truth... would he have given up hope? Would he have given in to his darker desires, and have sought death over life?

"Thank you for speaking Fergus's words to me," she told the other woman. "May I have the leaf back?"

"The letter? Of course dear, it's yours after all."

She re-rolled the marking-leaf into its original shape, and bent to pick up Krion. His gorgeous brown eyes looked up at her, and she felt an overwhelming wave of love. She sent a brief, heartfelt prayer to the Mother, asking that she help Fergus find his way through the darkness.

.oOo.


End file.
